overland coach. As yet I did not know a single 
one of my fellow passengers, or how many of 
them there would be. 
Presently up 'the street came a fine Concord 
coach drawn by six good horses, each one full of 
life, and apparently trying to beat his running 
mate and get in the lead. 
Two men were on the box seat, and the driver 
instead of 'trying to restrain his horses, seemed 
well satisfied to have them go as they pleased. 
There was a scattering of the crowd who used 
the sides or the middle of the street impartially 
for walking, there being as yet few, if any, side¬ 
walks; and with a great rattling of harness and 
clatter of hoofs, the driver swung his team a 
little toward the hotel, and brought the leaders 
to their haunches as the coach came in front of 
the doorway. The coach agent, for ft was he 
who sat with the driver, got down from his 
place, and, opening the door of the vehicle which 
already contained three men. who had got in at 
the office, called out “Mr. M.,” “Mr. R.” A short 
and stout elderly man of about fifty years, wear¬ 
ing coarse comfortable shoes, and a grey suit of 
good material, 'but evidently made by a country 
tailor, answered to the latter name; and, handing 
his bag to the agent, got in and took the only re¬ 
maining unoccupied corner seat; the first three 
passengers having each pre-empted one. I was 
very well pleased with this arrangement, as I 
preferred the seat with the driver in the day¬ 
time, when the weather was pleasant as that 
afternoon happened to be. 
Unfortunately there was very little weather 
after the start to make the outside enjoyable; 
and for the following week I was most of the 
time inside, having the whole of the middle 
seat to myself. 
There was an immense amount of mail mat¬ 
ter, as it seemed to me, taken on at the post 
office in the next 'block. Indeed, I was told there 
was a ton of it, and think it probable there was 
at least as much as that. We five passengers 
had no other luggage than each a single hand-bag, 
so that the space in the rear of the coach, where 
trunks and all heavy luggage is usually carried, 
was available for carrying mail sacks, and it 
was completely filled, as well as a considerable 
part of the “boot,” that yawning chasm beneath 
the driver’s feet, where there always seemed to 
be room for something more. Mail sacks were 
pint into the bottom of this, with our bags on the 
top, where they could easily be reached. The 
Wells-Fargo & Co. express matter was not much 
that day. No treasure-box such as I had often 
traveled with when going to and from the mines, 
only a few parcels and small boxes, and a sack of 
letters and packages mostly for Sple Lake City. 
When these were all fitted in place to the agent’s 
satisfaction, that functionary climbed down and 
waved us farewell with a parting injunction to 
the driver to “send her along, Charlie,” and we 
were off. 
I have always enjoyed stage coaching, and 
have done a great deal of it. I doubt if there 
ever was anything finer in that way than the 
two competing lines over the Sierra Nevada 
Mountains, from Sacramento to Virginia City, 
during the prosperous times in the latter place. 
There is an exhilaration in this mode of travel¬ 
ing, especially when you have the seat with the 
driver and can see all that goes on, as I had 
that afternoon when we left Cheyenne, which 
FOREST AND STREAM 
nothing else quite equals. A machine cannot 
enlist the interest in its movements that a living 
creature does, and the tossing of the horses’ 
heads, their waving tails, their playful biting and 
kicking, the emulation of the animals themselves, 
the rattling of harness, the rhythm of hoof beats, 
the rumble and swaying of the coach, all com¬ 
bined to make this seem to me incomparably a 
more sportsmanlike way of traveling than any 
other. 
It was the rule with all stage coach lines to 
have the best horses, coaches and harness for 
the entrance to, and exit from, any important 
place on the line. At Cheyenne, Salt Lake City 
or Virginia City, for instance, the very best the 
company had was used for the incoming and 
outgoing coaches; but when the wilderness of 
sage brush and mountain was reached, it became 
only a question of what was best for getting over 
the ground with the passengers and mail, regard¬ 
less of appearances. The vehicle which had 
been proved from long experience to be best for 
the purpose was commonly called a “mud 
wagon.” 
It was constructed on the same principle as the 
regular Concord coach. That is, the body was 
hung on leather slings, composed of many thick¬ 
nesses of the heaviest sole leather; but instead of 
the wooden coach body, the mud wagon had 
only solid front and rear. There was a leather 
top supported at the sides by a couple of flat up¬ 
rights of Iran, so as to divide the space into 
three parts, corresponding with the seats. To 
each of these there was a leather curtain, fastened 
at the top, but which could be let down and but¬ 
toned the same as the side curtains of a buggy, 
very effectively excluding rain and wind, so that 
the passengers had nothing to complain of on the 
score of comfort, from a' coaching standpoint; 
the body of the -mud' wagon being hung much 
lower than the ordinary coach, there was far 
less liability of its being upset; a very obvious 
advantage. There was a large “boot” as the 
storage space, in front below the driver’s legs, is 
called, and as much room behind, as in a regular 
coach. 
Of course, the whole outfit at the starting point 
of the overland journey was of the best. The 
horses looked well cared for, and were highly 
strung, the harness was black, and the metal work 
polished until it shone, and the coach was of the 
newest. Everything was calculated to impress 
the beholders with ithe excellence of each detail. 
The emigrant route to Salt Lake by way of Inde¬ 
pendence Rock, the Sweetwater River, and South 
Pass, had been abandoned by the stage company 
for a shorter one by way of Bridgers Pass, and 
the headwaters of Bitter Creek to Fort Bridger, 
which took us much further south. 
This route, which was not much traveled, was 
at most points a long distance from where the 
Union Pacific Railway now is; but stage stations 
want grass, water and fuel, which are none of 
them essential for a railway. Half an hour after 
leaving the feverish little terminus of the trans¬ 
continental line, civilization might have been left 
one hundred miles behind us, so completely had 
all signs of man’s habitation disappeared. 
Although so early in the season, the afternoon 
was more like May than March, and the first two 
stages of our journey were as pleasant as could 
be wished. The ground was hard and firm, and 
the country at first gently rolling, soon became 
uneven enough to be attractive, with here and 
271 
there a few bushes, and in the ravines, cedars 
and other trees. As we surmounted each rise of 
ground , the dark line of mountains which the 
driver called the Black Hills, stood out before 
us, forming the irregular outline of the horizon, 
Our second change of horses was twenty-five or 
thirty miles from Cheyenne; and here we were 
reminded of what was in store for us by a change 
from our Concord coach to one of the mud 
wagons I have before described. 
The vehicle was already standing in front of 
Dale Creek station when our driver brought the 
coach alongside of i|t, and three or four men at 
once began to- unload our mail sacks and express 
matter, distributing it upon the ground for con¬ 
venience for reloading. 
This was a carefully considered matter, all of 
the heavy packages being placed at the bottom so 
as to bring the center of gravity of the vehicle 
as low as possible, with a view to lessening the 
danger of a capsize, for many of the mail sacks 
were very heavy. Most of the California mail at 
that time went, of course, by way of the Isthmus 
of Panama, but all of that for Utah, and much 
for points in Nevada and Idaho, was sent by the 
daily coaches for Salt Lake; from which point 
it was distributed as circumstances would permit. 
While the mail matter was being stowed away 
we passengers took the opportunity to stretch our 
legs and look about. The station, complete in 
itself, was a sample of many, scattered at inter¬ 
vals of ten to twenty miles from the eastern base 
of the Rocky Mountains to the Sierra Nevada in 
California; although there were occasional strik¬ 
ing variations in construction and arrangement, 
as location and convenience of building material 
sugested, there was necesarily much similarity. 
In some cases the station was merely a collec¬ 
tion of buildings with no especial attention paid 
to the question of defense; in others, the builder 
in charge had evidently in his mind a fortress 
designed to be impregnable against Indian foes. 
The buildings in front of which we had stopped 
were three in number, standing in a straight row 
and facing the road. First, a long low house 
some twenty feet front by forty feet in depth, 
made of good-sized logs, the spaces between 
which were closed by split wood, plastered over 
with mud, with here and there at a convenient 
distance an aperture which would answer the 
purpose of a loophole through which a Winches¬ 
ter could be readily used. A solid wooden door 
in the middle of the front wall was flanked on 
each side by 'a window, provided on the inside 
with a strong shutter of plank like the door; one 
shutter closing an entire window. They were 
usually swung back against the wall, but in case 
of attack could be instantly closed, and fastened 
by a wooden bar. 
The side and rear windows were similarly pro¬ 
tected. The interior of the building was parti¬ 
tioned off into three rooms. That in front— 
much the largest—was the general living room, 
besides being the sleeping room of all the em¬ 
ployes as shown by the bunks along its sides; 
next was a dining room, and in the rear a large 
kitchen. On one side of the front room was a 
big fireplace, and in front near one of the win¬ 
dows was a stand, upon which rested a telegraph 
instrument. The furniture consisted of a rude 
table, a dozen or so of chairs, a home-made wash- 
stand, and a roller towel; around the walls were 
long wooden pegs, at suitable distances apart, 
